


Let me kiss you

by mindofaddict, ResidentTrickster



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drinking & Talking, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindofaddict/pseuds/mindofaddict, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResidentTrickster/pseuds/ResidentTrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon continues to meet Oswald, who is climbing his way up crime hierarchy in Gotham while feeding information to Jim and pulling strings. They both feel this interaction is not enough and connection lies deeper than favours in return for saved life. Both unsure, both scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me kiss you

**Author's Note:**

> Let me Kiss You is a song by Morissey. Special thanks to my dear friend, inspiration and co-author Resident Trickster.

It has all been going for a while now. Lunch out, at some quiet place, address in the text, no black cars, no rush, civil and calm. Private cabinet, always tea, always Oswald, waiting for him, reading a book or writing notes, or even serving tea himself. And — information. People he sell over for nothing in return — or is he now just an executioner for Don Cobblepot? Why this pleasant chat, this happiness, this beaming face?

— Is something bothering you, James, old friend?

Attentive, big eyes are watching Jim, catching every single drop of emotion and change in stance. Well, let the man have what he is asking for — fuck this «Nothing, Oswald», you ask for sincerity — you get it, you don’t — then don’t bloody pretend you care.

— It is all wrong. This place, us sitting here, chatting pleasantly. It makes me sick, Oswald. I wish I could talk to you, have a beer, a laugh, a small talk in pub, call you a friend, for fuck’s sake! Have something real, real friendship, like some people somewhere have!.. And look at us, you — feeding me information, names, places, polite and courteous. And me — listening and hating every second of it, of this «stage», the «act», and stupid enough to speak my mind. Fair trade for a pat on the shoulder, huh.

Oswald’s face could change so many expressions and communicate every single bit of what he wanted — yet now it was like something was slowly shattering inside of him, opening up bare and stricken.

— Such words, such words from my dear friend. Nothing can show how I appreciate this. — He moved hand towards Jim’s neurotically and cut midmovement. — I think I understand though I am at loss. What can I say. I’ve never had such a friend before.

It is almost pitiful to watch Oswald visibly cringe and try to rest his hands on his lap. Jim sighed and nodded, getting up, worn out and tired instantly. He wanted it to be just pitiful, laughable matter, but situation itself just fucking wouldn’t give him such an easy way out.

— I know. Must be going now.

Red curtains of the private zone couldn’t muffle music from the main cafe.

_«Close your eyes_  
 _and think of someone you physically admire_  
 _and let me kiss you»_

He lingers at the entrance and the second is enough for Oswald to find his voice in the heavily charged moment and start speaking, like he is pushing the words out of the black hole that opened inside of him, pulling everything into it. Words falling out of his mouth with pauses are like a blood from slit throat.

— I owe... you. My life, you saved it once. Not like it bears any importance. But this — this connection is appreciated beyond so much on my side. Jim.

Hand on Jim’s wrist is astenic and cold, surprisingly strong and confident, getting restless as Jim says nothing.

The song is getting him nervous an puts thoughts in Jim’s head which are not welcome right now.

_«But then you open your eyes_  
 _And you see someone that you physically despise_  
 _But my heart is open_  
 _My heart is open to you»_

— If I can do anything for you, anything at all — you just say it, say it and it is done.

Jim looked at him searchingly and sighed, turning to face Oswald properly, laying heavy hand on the boney shoulder and absentmindedly watching how it slipped lower. He could almost feel the heartbeat, unable to stop thinking, how different they could be, in a world where they didn’t have to survive, where Oswald had something, someone good in his life. His heart ached.

— You just stay alive there, Oswald. You know. Just be safe, for me, right?

There’s been a moment of clarity, of eye contact and deep understanding, but it was brief. Jim left and worked till the late night.

 

*****

 

— Who the fuck is that?.. — Jim walked to the door, squirming from the door buzz. The noise was hateful as the disturbance this late in the evening. The day was bad enough as it was. He grabbed the gun and opened the door.

— Did you say something about a pub? — Oswald giggled, hugging a large bottle of calvados, which shocked Jim deeply.

— Apple vodka? Seriously?.. — Jim shook his head and put the gun down.

— I thought I would be...

— Get in, friend. It burns — it suits. Although you look like you started without me...

Oswald only laughed and maneuvered into the small flat, theatrically putting the bottle in the center of the writing desk that Jim had instead of kitchen table.

...And so they drank. And they talked. Talked about everything, about life, their experiences, their paths, their highs and lows. And ironically they thought almost exact same thing about each other — so alive, so real, in this city of Monsters and Zombies and Functions, thinking they are Human. Jim looked at Oswald and couldn’t quite grasp it, why this man was so alive? So full of colours, shades, need to learn everything the World had for him — murder, okay, fine, pain — sure, suffering — no problem, friendship — with all his heart. He wondered, how would it turn out had Oswald had a different start.

...They entered the dangerous lands of amorous experiences, Jim was smiling and blinking drunkenly.

— Come on, Oswald. First kiss — with a girl, with a boy. I won’t believe if you deny the second part.

The question was welcomed with a sardonic smile and expressive hand wave.

— No. Never. Never tried. No girls, no boys. Only whores. — A shot. — Ok, one whore, all thanks to Fish. — He giggled, spitting out her name. — That birthday present really sucked. And one doesn’t kiss whores. Ya know, Jim?

Ji-im.

He pushed dark hair back for once, looking creepily at Jim, and what Jim could say? What could he say to keep himself busy, eyes glued to Oswald, licking his lips.  
So Jim talked. He went on and on, about sweet girl, living next door to him at elementary school times, first girlfriend... School Theater Club guy, after «The Lieutenant of Inishmore» play... A guy in army... He felt being light headed and carried away watching the dark sparkle light up in Oswald’s eyes and forced smile on his lips. Jim wanted to stop this moment being so charged, he wanted... a damn lot of things.

— Sorry, I am talking too much when I am this drunk. Wanna... wanna try? You know. The real kiss. Nothing beats the drunk snogging.... with a good friend.  
You should know better than whores! You are my... f-f-friend, Oswald! I want you... want you to be happy! When is your birthday — it can be a present?

That hit even worse.

— I do not believe in birthdays any more. — Voice suddenly sober. — I get my presents when I want and how I want. And I don’t need your, — hissing, — charity, and your bloody sympathy, and all this... crap. — Oswald trembled visibly, breathing hard, mouth set in hard line. — You want s-snogging — fine. Me too. Let’s do it. I am not so p-pathetic...

Oh I am more than so.

And so he pushes himself up, gripping the table. And so he sways closer and closer, finally sitting on a table in front of Jim, looking down on him and pushing his own legs apart vulgarly as Jim watches paralyzed. The next thing he registers — he is pulled forward by the shirt collar, cloth creaking at the seams.

It was frankly speaking quite terrible in technic, sloppy, noisy, awkward and Oswald didn’t quite know how to use his tongue, but... But it was perfect.

— Come on, Jim. I know you want to fuck me into this table, beat the spirit out of me and take me... Or are you afraid? Huh, saint James Gordon? Afraid to fuck a drunk pathetic Oswald? Disgusted? Aren’t you? Do you want to know me better... biblically?

There was only one way to cut this nervous crap. At least one way Jim really liked — he pushed chair away and stood up taking Oswald’s face between his hands first, then sliding them rough behind his neck, holding Oswald in place.

— Nope, not like that. More like...

It is a conscious torture, slow and perfectly aimed, from a short lick between the lips to rhythmic hot sucking on poor Oswald’s tongue. Jim huffed and quietly breathed into guy’s mouth and bit his lower lip, licking it thoughtfully. God, he was drunk.

And that was the only thing that saved Oswald who reached Jim’s belt by that moment. That made ex-army and now-police consciousness kicked in and Jim gripped the table and stopped, realising he was almost lying on Oswald, their hips touching.

— Damn. Sorry, army training — don’t do that, I might have hit you. — Long pause, Jim tries not to look at the hypnotizing mess Oswald is right now. — Wow. That was damn good — you learn fast.

Oswald’s voice was alien even to him, strangers’ words in his mouth.

— I can suck you off right now, Jim.

That — was not fair at all.

— It is just alcohol, you... you sure don’t really want it, it just makes you exaggerate everything you feel.

Jim tried to give Oswald a way out, make it all easier for them — and winced in his thoughts at the wrongness of it.

— Fuck you, Jim. Enough shit for t-today.

Sadness and disdain, all angles and bitterness, Oswald slipped off the table and tried to make himself presentable enough to leave the flat, while limping heavily towards the door.

— I should have never suggested this.

Feeling stupid and guilty, angry with himself, Jim folllowed, not stopping Oswald, but trying to get to him. Useless, useless words — once you pick wrong ones, all your words are wrong for sometime.

— Hey, stop, don’t... Okay, fuck me, I know I talk shit, but stay, sleep it off first... Just please stay, Oswald. That is not what friends do — leaving each other to suffer hangover alone. Come on, give me a chance. You will have your revenge in the morning — everyone says I am a grumpy potato in the mornings, funny and all... Sorry I am babbling. — He couldn’t bear it and caught Oswald’s wrist. — I didn’t want to hurt you. Come on, let’s call it a night and sleep for a bit.

He dropped to whispering, looking into dark disbelieving eyes.

— What you did, coming here, is super brave and I didn’t expect you to understand, you are indeed clever that way.

— You know what’s curious, Jim? — crooked smile cracked Oswald’s controlled facial expression. — The way you always believe me. I am NOT your friend and I never was. You are only a sma-a-al chess piece in my game.

A boner makes a perfect match with this monologue.

— And for you I am no more than a messenger, amn’t I? — Irish accent suddenly broke into sad laughter. — Just stop friend-ing me. It’s time to go home.

Now was Jm’s turn to feel angry and maybe a teensy bit hurt. He stood there, blocking Oswald’s way out, arms crossed, teeth gritted, adrenalin pumping into bloodstream.

— Oh yeah? So you played me, clever boy? You’re telling me, you played me from the beginning, a brilliant actor and a messenger? Then listen to me, smartarse, I don’t believe you. — He started to point finger at Oswald’s face, almost shouting, drunk and emotional. — I don’t fucking believe you, because you are clever and if you wanted to — you could have fooled me till the end, no cards-on-the-table shit. I am sorry, and I will repeat myself on that in the morning, when I don’t dare to admit even to myself I could kiss you anytime, if you care to ask. And now you are going to bed, of course alone, or you will get yourself killed out there! You fucker...

After those words Jim caught Oswald into tight embrace and took him upon shoulder, fighting the low weight, but strong kicks and hissing curses.  
It was a long way of swearing and bumping into things, though finally Oswald went from hatred to calm sarcasm. Then, when Jim carefully put his burden down on the only bed, he caught huffing man’s hand.

— Maybe, since I am obviously trapped here, you at least join me? Please. So we have the reason to hate each other, I need...

— Shhhhh. Shut up, you will hate me, I will hate myself too, and it will be absolute shit. — Jim got away from Oswald and caught his feet. — We really need to take off those shoes, you show-off. And listen to me while I am doing this and can be honest. — He started to loosen the laces of shiny shoes in his lap. — You. The most alive person I’ve ever met here. Most sincere in what he does. Most fuckin’ honest in a creepy way; and elegant in all of it, most clever, I guess. I respect you for everything you did, although I hate great part of it, what you had to do. — Jim sighed putting down one shoe, carefully holding Oswald’s ancle. — I know you are the only person who would’ve shed a single tear If I am killed. And if you need to, you will be able to kill me any time. I respect you for that, too. I... really wish we were in different places, Oswald, so we could... — He averted eyes from him and placed the second shoe neatly near the first, head swaying a bit. — There, shoes off. See you in the morning, buddy.

Oswald looked at the scene as if he saw a miracle, scary in it’s finality, an impossible fact. He silently crawled to Jim, lacing hand over his shoulders.

— In the morning I will regret this deeply, but for now I am done enough to share my last secret with you.- He whispered slowly. — I can’t be your friend. I love you, Jim Gordon. And now you go and you live with this.

Jim shuddered from head to his toes, like he was shot and electrocuted at the same time, unable to breathe, move and fight anymore. It was all bigger than the Universe and was a trembling whisper and the breath on his skin. And the damn words he knew could kill them both, the soft spot, the trigger point, the giant bull’s eye all over them both. But it was something to die for — because, what the fuck else for? Definitely not for the Law and Order in Gotham.

He could say everything, could say he hated Oswald, could shout, could walk away, say he loved him, punch him. But he said none and kissed Oswald like it was the last time, which it likely was, slowly pushing him backwards on the bed.


End file.
